Cressien lunges faster than she knew he could move, swooping on the contents of the drawer like a hawk and slamming it shut. “It’s an octopus, if you must know, and it’s purely for meditation.” He stuffs the whole business under his pillow, scowling, and adds resentfully, “And it’s incomplete.”
“Color me impressed,” Eugene says, and when Cressien gives him a suspicious frown, he holds up his hands. “Truly! If I had an octopus like that as a kid I’d take him everywhere. I’d probably call him Mister Fitzherbert, even, and he’d have a job as a mean teacher.”
Rapunzel can’t help a smile at the image of a baby Eugene sleeping with a crocheted octopus. Then her smile wavers. He grew up with so little; it’s not fair to deny him more.
She catches his sleeve. “I trust you,” she says, “and I don’t want to cost you your one chance at learning more about your family. If spying on me helps you with that…”
Eugene covers her hand with his, then drops to a crouch by her chair, all bravado suspended for the moment. “Look, Freckles. Even if I was willing to put you in danger—and I’m not—you’re also a little too good at putting everyone else’s needs first.”
“Isn’t that my job as a princess?” she pushes back. “To help everyone?”
“To a point.” Cressien, to her surprise, is staring at the far side of the bed. After a moment she realizes he’s not wringing his hands, just rubbing the knuckle of his bare ring finger. “Selflessness is an easy default when you feel lost, Your Highness. But ultimately, if you overextend yourself, you hurt the people relying on you.”
Rapunzel swallows. “What if we gave them bad information? Or a mix of information that’s true but useless, and fake information, and then we see who acts on it? Say I like cherrytarts, for example. Then if the Councilor of the North tries to bribe me with them, we know she’s involved.”
“That could work,” Cressien allows, “if we’re all very, very careful. But if Astera is indeed having some sort of internal dispute, it’s best we stay out of it as much as possible. All we have to do is make it through this week without further disaster. Now, about this serious matter the king wants to discuss—”
There’s a knock, not at Cressien’s door, but the guest parlor’s. They find Hughes standing just outside. “His Majesty wishes to let you know you will be escorted to dinner with him in an hour.”
“Thank you for the notice,” Cressien says. He shuts the door again as Hughes bows and leaves, then eyeballs Eugene’s severe dishevelment. “There’s no use speculating what this dinner is about with as little information as we have currently, so I would suggest using our time to…freshen up. Unless either of you has anything else to add?”
Eugene’s eyes flicker, but he just brushes a stray breadcrumb from his sleeve. “Nope. All set to dress to impress.”
Rapunzel doesn’t need the full hour to get ready, but it does take her a couple tries to get her cosmetics right. Years of delicate brushwork and pigment blending make some parts of it easier, but they don’t steady the shake in her hand.
It’ll be fine, she tells herself. She can handle this, no matter what. Maybe King Enver will admit why he really invited them. Maybe he wants to talk about the coming of age ceremony. Maybe there’s a problem, one only she can solve.
Whatever it is…she can handle it. With or without her hair.
(And then Minister Cressien can putthatin his report.)
As polished as Rapunzel thinks she looks when she steps out of her room, Eugene still casually makes her stomach jolt as he paces in the parlor in a burgundy tailcoat that sets off his eyes, rearranging the porcelain cat figurines lining the fireplace mantel. She matches his embarrassingly goofy grin with her own as she tugs at the cuffs of her long sleeves. “How do I look?”
“Perfect” leaps out so fast she knows he didn’t practice it. He takes her hand. “Can I make a suggestion?”
“Sure?”
He carefully folds her sleeve up and back so the cuff falls just below her elbow, then does the same to the other arm. “You want to know a secret? I used to fidget with my sleeves all the time when I was nervous. That’s why I started rolling mine up.”
“I can’t imagine you ever getting nervous,” Rapunzel says wryly.
His grin tilts at that. “Really? Because that’s how I feel basically all the time around you.”
A tactical cleared throat unfortunately cuts in.
Princess Verette is standing in the open parlor doorway. “Good evening. I’m to escort you all to dinner.”
Rapunzel jumps. “Oh! Er.” She fumbles for solid ground. “I think we’re just waiting on Minister—”
“I am ready, Your Highness,” Cressien says behind her.
Rapunzel jumps again. She didn’t even hear his door open. “Great! Then let’s be off!”
“Let’s,” Verette says blandly.
As they set off down the hall, Rapunzel tries to scrape together small talk—only for Eugene to pick up the conversation for her.
“So, Your Highness,” he starts, “I apologize, but we know very little about Astera or your traditions. You saw for yourself yesterday, the best we’ve got comes from an old storybook. Is it all right if we ask what probably seem like very basic questions?”
